Alpha, Beta
by Snowy Winter Tales
Summary: AU. The summer for just-sixteen Sirius Black is looking to be a boring one, especially since his family is taking him to go on holiday to some southern part of France. But then, he meets him. S/R.
1. Present

**Alpha, Beta**

Sirius is looking rather incredulously at his mother, who is delicately sipping her tea. She sets it down upon its platter and then looks up at him, her chin raised slightly.

'We will be leaving tomorrow. Try not to oversleep.'

He breathes in through his nose and nods. 'Of course, Mother.'

* * *

He's standing deep in the sand, staring out at the turquoise ocean. He should be used to the colour by now, he thinks, since it's always turquoise, but it surprises him every time. The River Thames is grey.

He turns, suddenly, intending to go back to the summer house and bother his brother Regulus, but he collides, _hard_ , with someone else.

'Faites attention,' he sneers, in French. The someone, a boy, raises one eyebrow at him and offers, in somewhat broken-sounding French, 'J'ai désolée.'

He looks a lot younger than Sirius. His dark-blonde hair is lit up in parts by the sun, and reaches to just below his ears.

'You weren't even supposed to be standing so close to me,' Sirius drawls, in English now, and the boy pauses and looks a bit surprised.

'I wasn't, really,' he says, politely, pointing to the ocean behind Sirius. 'You're just in the best spot to see the sunrise in. I was about to go home.'

And he does just this, before Sirius can say or ask anything of him. He disappears out of sight and Sirius scowls when Kreacher shows his ugly, wrinkled face from around a nearby umbrella, telling him in clipped tones that Mistress wants him home.

* * *

Sirius has forgotten all about the boy, what with the swimming and the studying Monsieur Gagnon insist he does (''E 'as strangé "D", Madame,' he tells Mother on Wednesday, and Sirius isn't allowed dinner unless he can say _Didon dîna dit-on du dos dodu de dix dodus dindons_ fifteen times without fault).

So when he does meet him again, when the Blacks are having dinner in the most expensive restaurant in the city, it takes him a minute or two to realise that the small boy standing at his table, with a carefully pressed white shirt and a formal black tie, is, in fact, someone he's met before.

There's a much larger man standing next to him, telling Mother that their foie gras is the best in France, and the wine bottle the boy is holding looks too large for him. Regulus catches his eye across the table, and Sirius raises one eyebrow back.

Then, in a flash, it's happened.

The expensive bottle has toppled over, right onto Sirius's most expensive robes, red seeping into grey fabric, and the large man is apologising profusely, offering to buy a new one and the most extravagant dinner, _sur le compte de la maison, Madame_.

He can see Mother's tightened lips, but Father, his grey eyes staring hard at the small boy, says he'll accept, as long as they rid themselves of this incompetent help.

'- oui, oui, monsieur,' the large man is saying, glaring at the small boy, who is a bit paler, but otherwise staring straight into Sirius's eyes.

Regulus calmly pushes his wand back in his robe pocket, and Sirius excuses himself, making his way towards the restrooms at the back of the restaurant.

The nasty stain at the front is gone when he emerges ten minutes later, and as he makes his way back, he spots a large, open stone door to his left he hadn't seen before. He can hear shouting, and curiosity gets the better of him.

There's a bit of a gap in between the door and the fancy red curtain, and he pushes himself in it, pleased now that he has a clear view of the small alley behind the restaurant.

The large man from earlier is shouting at the boy, who is still dressed in his white shirt, although now, it is splattered with food and –

'- une honte pour cet établissement!' the man shouts, and he lifts his hand and strikes the boy across the face, hard. Sirius can see his knuckles on the boy's cheek, long after the large man has stormed past him, looking cross. The boy is standing stock-still, his head facing the stone wall at his side.

'I'm sorry,' Sirius says, pushing back the curtain and stepping out onto the doorstep.

'No, you're not,' the boy says. It doesn't sound accusing or condescending; it sounds just like it is – a fact. The boy turns back to face him, and Sirius can see a slight swelling under his eye. His lip is bleeding.

'You won't be able to work here, anymore,' Sirius says, matter-of-factly, and the boy bends to collect his clothes from where they've fallen onto the ground before straightening again.

Then, the boy looks at him, much like he'd done in the restaurant. His mouth is open, and it looks like he's about to say something.

Sirius stares at him expectantly, but the boy only nods once before he disappears into the quiet evening.

This time, Sirius doesn't so easily forget about him.

* * *

 **Author's Note** : Right, so. I started work on this story in 2008, because "Toujours Pur" was stuck in my head and all of a sudden, I imagined beachy, chalky holidays in the southern part of France and Sirius absolutely _hating_ it. The rest of the story got pieced together from there. The chapters are short, and there's only six of them, which I will be uploading in the course of the week.

My French really wouldn't have been as good with the aid of LJ user septentrion1970, who helped me with most of the grammar and translations. Translations will be offered at the end of each chapter.

Translations  
\- _Faites attention_ : watch it.  
\- _J'ai désolée_ : Remus botches up his apology. He says "I have sorry".  
\- _Didon dîna dit-on du dos dodu de dix dodus dindons_ : this translates, very roughly, to "Didon dined, it is said, on ten fat turkeys".  
\- _Sur le compte de la maison, Madame_ : on the house.  
\- _Oui, oui, monsieur_ : yes, yes, sir.  
\- _Une honte pour cet établissement_ : a disgrace to this restaurant.


	2. Four Days Later

**Alpha, Beta**

It's Sunday, and on Sunday, Mother insist they attend mass in a nearby church. The priest is old, and Sirius dislikes him nearly instantly; even more so when he sees him step on a man's shoes.

His mother orders him to pay attention, and he does, but the man on whose shoes the priest stepped has stood up, his hair fiery and red, and Sirius only has eyes for the boy that is standing next to him, with light-blond hair and patched-up trousers.

On the other side of the boy is a small woman, wearing a light, summery yellow dress, and Sirius can sense her discomfort rather than see it. However, as she turns to run her hand through the boy's hair, Sirius sees her smile.

Regulus whispers then that he can see through the back of the dress the woman in front of them is wearing, and Sirius is distracted for a moment.

* * *

The woman in the yellow dress is nice, Sirius thinks. She calmly stood and waited by the entrance when everybody made their way out at the end of mass, and she smiled at him when he gave her a curious look. Her smile was kind and said, _I don't mind if you can't pronounce your D's properly_.

Sirius feigns an interest in a nearby stained glass window; the boy and the red-haired man arrive. 'As-tu vu la statue, Remus?' she asks, and Sirius wrinkles his nose.

Remus. It's an odd name, he decides.

'Oui,' the-boy-called-Remus says, with a grin. 'C'est magnifique, tante Elaine.'

'Sirius,' Regulus calls then, from in-between the giant front doors, black hair flying wildly in the sudden wind. 'Mum wants you, come on!'

Sirius feels Remus's eyes on his back as he follows Regulus out.

* * *

Sirius is standing on slippery stone. He's staring at the far edge of the sea, wondering why the sun won't get a move on, but Kreacher, hovering over a nearby rock, says, 'Mistress wanted us to be back by _seven_ ,' in an accusing tone, and Sirius sighs, and nods.

On his way back, his feet slipping on sharp rocks covered with salty sea water, he sees a flash of light-blond hair.

'Kreacher, wait for me at the end of the path,' he orders, mindlessly, and turns to run back, Kreacher's wails of _misfortune_ and _Mistress_ lost in the wind.

Remus is standing there, his back to Sirius, dressed in the same white dress shirt he'd worn at the restaurant, only now it's clean, and its ends are billowing in the early morning wind.

It takes a few strides, and then he's standing next to Remus, looking out at turquoise again. 'Hello.'

Remus turns his head ever the slightest, looking at Sirius. Then the corners of his mouth pull up, and Sirius grins, as well.

* * *

Translations  
\- _As-tu vu la statue, Remus?_ : did you see the statue, Remus?  
\- _Oui, c'est magnifique, tante Elaine_ : Yes, it's magnificent, Aunt Elaine.


	3. Twenty Minutes Later

**Alpha, Beta**

Remus is thirteen. Three whole years younger than Sirius.

Sirius knows this because he asked, Kreacher forgotten in the early, burning morning sun. Remus tells him this is his first time in France, and that the red-haired man is his uncle (Sirius asked that, too). His father is away on business, and after some wriggling, Remus says his surname is Lupin.

Sirius looks at him a while longer, wondering out loud why Mother didn't know the Lupins were staying over at the house by the sea. Remus stares at him, then snuffs, and says, a _Black_.

'What of it?' Sirius asks, wondering why this wounds him somehow.

Remus looks at him again, then says, 'It's just me. Mum's not feeling well, so she's sent me to live with Aunt Ellie for a while.'

'For how long?' Sirius asks, aware that he's prying.

'Four weeks in all. The week after next is my last here.'

* * *

It starts to bother him on the Friday after that, how much he actually _thinks_ about Remus. It's ridiculous, really, because he's only seen him three times, and the southern part of France is quite big, so why is he suddenly worried that he won't see him again before he leaves in a fortnight?

He mulls over this at dinner, and then asks Mother why they're not having the Lupins over when she says he's being too quiet. Mother narrows her eyes and then says, in a cutting voice, 'Their son married a Muggle. Their family line isn't pure, and we are not going to associate ourselves with such filth.'

'I didn't know.'

Father lowers _The Evening Prophet_ and regards Sirius with clear grey eyes. 'We've not told you because we cannot afford to have you insult members of the Ministry.'

Sirius feels hollow. 'I wouldn't –'

'You did when we were visiting your grandmother,' Mother says primly. 'A boy ran into you, and you demanded he apologise to a Black. He didn't know of you, of course – just another uneducated, blundering Mudblood – and you told him exactly what you thought of him.'

'That's what I'm meant to do, isn't it?' Sirius asks, raising an eyebrow and wondering why he should defend himself.

'Not in the open, Sirius,' Father reminded him, and Sirius feels incompetent and useless. 'Appearances are everything.'

'Of course,' Sirius says again. 'I will not disappoint you again, Father.'

Father levels him with a stare. 'Eat your dinner.'

Sirius does.

* * *

'That boy,' Sirius later says, when Regulus is lying on his bed, studying Éluard (he remembers having once memorised _L'amoureuse_ only to annoy Monsieur Gagnon: _elle a la forme de mes mains, elle a la couleur de mes yeux_ ).

Regulus looks up, his eyes clear and focused. He thinks for a moment, and then says, 'Restaurant?'

When Sirius nods, Regulus laughs. 'A Lupin. How wonderful.'

* * *

Translations  
\- _L'amoureuse_ : a poem by Paul Éluard. Not particularly sure about the translation of the title - I'm leaning towards "amoureu": a word that indicates a secretive or illicit sexual relationship.  
\- _Elle a la forme de mes mains, elle a la couleur de mes yeux_ : she has the shape of my hands, she has the colour of my eyes.


	4. Three Days Later

**Alpha, Beta**

Sirius forcefully puts Remus out of his mind, and thankfully doesn't think of him until they visit the bookshop. Regulus spots Remus immediately behind the counter, and elbows Sirius. 'Cela va être la fête.'

'What are you going to do now?' Sirius asks, flipping through a book without reading the pages. Regulus grins at him.

'Il va se sentir incompétent.'

Sirius raises an eyebrow, but Regulus ignores him. 'Bonjour,' he says, in perfect, smooth French, and the quiet boy looks up at him. Regulus says, 'Je voudrais acheter quelques livres d'Éluard,' and the boy stares at him, not understanding.

'Él-ua-rd, le poet, idiot,' Regulus says, and the boy replies, calmly, 'those are in the back row of the poetry section.'

Regulus's eyebrows rise. 'Eh bien, allez me les chercher,' he drawls out, and waits until Remus is out of sight to talk with the bookshop owner, an old man with a crooked smile.

'Monsieur, votre employé s'est montré d'une grande impertinence,' he says, and Sirius feels his stomach turn when he sees Remus reaching up for the sixth poetry book by Éluard. 'Vous feriez bien de surveiller la manière dont il répond aux clients, ou nous irons faire nos achats ailleurs.'

Remus returns to the counter, struggling under the weight of the books, even though Sirius knows they aren't that heavy. He looks far too scrawny, that Remus.

' _Finalement_ ,' Regulus says, and then glances at the books. 'C'est tout?'

'Yes,' Remus replies, still stubbornly in English, and Sirius feels it's been enough. Regulus is annoying to the point of it being annoying.

'Allons-y, Reg,' he says, coming up behind him. 'Je veux aller manger.'

Regulus looks at him, then at Remus, an almost sadistic smile on his face. 'Go put them back, then, Lupin,' he says. 'It's all you're good for, isn't it?'

He leans forward gracefully, making it seem like an accident to whisper in Remus's ear, 'Mudblood filth.'

Sirius doesn't look at Remus, instead pulls Regulus to his feet and walks with him to the door, disappearing into the throng of people.

* * *

'Spoilsport,' Regulus tells him, as they weave their way back through the sea of heads and voices.

Sirius doesn't reply, instead shrugs his shoulders.

'Bloody shirt-lifter,' Regulus says, out of the blue, and Sirius stops walking.

'He's – what?'

Regulus stops a step away from him. 'He was staring at you as we left.'

'That's – that has nothing to do with this,' Sirius says, and Regulus snorts.

* * *

He's sitting by himself on the rocks. There's a cigarette in his left hand, the fire at its tip forming a haze of nicotine and smoke that swirls and mixes with the clear air.

'Give us one, then.'

Remus is suddenly next to him, holding out his hand. Sirius is shocked, but hands him one anyway, and watches with fascination how Remus lights it with a match from a box he has somehow with him. Remus smokes like he's been doing it for years.

'You shouldn't smoke, you know,' Remus says, after a while. 'It's unhealthy.'

Sirius gives him a look. Remus grins in return, flicking his cigarette out into the ocean and watching the smoke trail as it falls and hits the water surface. 'No, you can't say anything, this is my first time.'

'Fuck you,' Sirius says, pointedly, and leans forward to kiss him.

* * *

Translations  
\- _Cela va être la fête_ : literally, this is where the party is. Regulus means he's going to have some fun. In a bad way.  
\- _Il va se sentir incompétent_ : he's going to feel incompetent.  
\- _Bonjour, je voudrais acheter quelques livres d'Éluard_ : hello, I would like to buy some books by Éluard. Particularly, this should be seen as an impolite and belittling way to ask Remus to fetch those books; Regulus can't really be bothered to ask Remus to get him these books, he should just go immediately.  
\- _Él-ua-rd, le poet, idiot_ : Él-ua-rd, the poet, you idiot.  
\- _Eh bien, allez me les chercher_ : Er, right, so go get them for me. The tone indicates Remus is rather slow for not having thought of this when Regulus asked.  
\- _Monsieur, votre employé s'est montré d'une grande impertinence. Vous feriez bien de surveiller la manière dont il répond aux clients, ou nous irons faire nos achats ailleurs_ : Sir, your employee is showing great impertinence. You would do well to keep an eye on the way he talks to customers, or we shall be taking our business elsewhere.  
\- _Finalement, c'est tout?_ : Finally, is this all?  
\- _Allons-y, Reg, je veux aller manger_ : let's go, Reg, I want to eat.


	5. Two Days Later

**Alpha, Beta**

He meets up with Remus the morning after that, and they sit together for a while, staring at the sunset. It's rather chilly, the wind creating goosebumps all over Sirius's bare legs, which he's hung over the edge of the cliff.

'What's Hogwarts like?' Remus asks, breaking the silence.

'I thought you went to Hogwarts,' Sirius says. He'd shifted through the library of faces he can remember from school many times, and always placed Remus there – with him. Perhaps as a Hufflepuff.

'I'm home-schooled,' Remus replies.

'Oh. It's nice. I love it there.'

'What house are you in?'

Remus sometimes gets like this; eager, eyes alight with curiosity, hands clenched in the fabric of his jeans. Sirius likes it when he does. But he doesn't want to answer that question, because somewhere, inexplicably, he doesn't want to mix Remus in with his life outside of France.

'Gryffindor.'

'Really.' Remus quiets, then turns to look at the sunset again. 'I'd like to be in Ravenclaw.'

'Ravenclaws are swots.'

Remus smiles, though he keeps his gaze on the steadily rising sun. 'I might be a swot.'

* * *

They kiss in the antique shop Remus now works in, hot and heavy against a grand piano. The keys groan when Remus stumbles backwards and into them, and an annoyed shout of the owner has Remus pulling away.

'Swot,' Sirius says softly, in protest, tightening his hold on Remus's shirt.

'Maybe I'll kiss you again if you buy something,' Remus suggests.

Sirius buys the piano.

Remus meets him in the storage room of his house, after he's finished helping Kreacher set up the piano legs on four small, glass plates. 'Against the scratches,' Remus explains.

Sirius trails his hands up Remus's back under shirt in reply, and swallows Remus's gasp with his lips.

* * *

'What are we doing?'

It's Friday evening. The both of them are lying on the beach, listening to the sound of waves on the sand. The moon is steadily rising. For now, there are stars. Remus is leaving tomorrow.

'Sorry?' Sirius asks, distracted. He's tracing his own star up in the sky with his fingers.

'What,' Remus fumbles, gives up, and attempts a new sentence. 'I want to study at Oxford when I grow up.'

Sirius stops, turns to face Remus even though he can't see him in the dark (though he feels him, hears his quiet, composed breathing), and thinks.

'I'm sure you'll manage.'

'Okay.'

* * *

The harbour is full to the brim; families, crying children, carriages, sailors, and luggage – it's all running together, and for Sirius, it blurs into one shape as he squints to try and keep the sun out.

He can't believe it has already been a week. In his mind, the days meld together, making Tuesday into Friday and Monday into Sunday and back again. They're all filled with Remus.

He makes his way through the crowd. It's a magical ship, he can tell – there are house-elves helping with the luggage and a lot of wand-waving is done by someone dressed in a sailor uniform, who might or might not be part of the ship's crew.

Remus's aunt and uncle are standing next to him and they're talking in hushed tones. Sirius can see them, as he leans against one of the ship's steel cables. A magically enhanced voice announces in French that this is the last call for passengers to board.

The grip Remus has on his bag tightens, and he appears to be saying something to his aunt. She raises her eyes and looks around, curiously. Sirius slinks deeper into the shadows. Then she shakes her head, and Remus's grip becomes vice-like, before relaxing.

He smiles, brightly, says his goodbyes, and boards the ship, ticket in hand.

The boat leaves fifteen minutes later. Sirius doesn't stay for the send off.


	6. Seven Years Later

**Alpha, Beta**

Sirius finishes Hogwarts with flourish. He has enough NEWTs to start his own private collection. His best friend, James, has one NEWT more, though Sirius keeps insisting he only got it because he cheated on his Divination exam.

Both his parents died in his final year whilst on a fancy cruise to Monaco. The boat accidentally veered off course and collided with a pirate ship. Sirius still has the formal letter announcing their deaths. It's the only tangible thing of theirs he has left.

Regulus started work for Gringotts after finishing Hogwarts. Now, he is head of the department that sees to large parts of the British wizarding economy; not that he needs the money he earns with it. He's married.

Sirius, on the other hand, can't really decide what he wants out of life. He travels and has affairs; pointless ones. The latest product is sitting at his kitchen table at the moment, her blonde hair dazzling in the sunlight pouring in.

She isn't wearing a shirt.

Sirius can't remember her name.

'It's dusty,' she says, in a distinctly upper-class accent, tinged with French. Sirius refuses to speak French nowadays, so she has to make due with English. 'This house, is it old?'

Oh, Merlin, he chose a chatty one. 'Not really,' Sirius lies, because he can't recall where he picked her up, and saying fifteen-thousand-and-twenty-five to a Muggle woman means more trouble than he's prepared for.

'I want to explore,' she insists, standing up and when Sirius sees the mischievous spark in her eyes, he remembers why he chose her. Trouble. Sirius likes trouble. Trouble is different from everyday orderly life.

'Not very much to see,' he offers, but she ignores him, striding out of the kitchen with her head held high. Sirius contemplates telling her Kreacher is still here.

Oh, the house is _his_ , there's no question about it. He gave Regulus his share of the inheritance, of course, but the houses in Italy, Austria and Britain are his. He's never cared too much for the stocks or the investments, though, so he lets a little red-haired chit called Evans take care of things.

She's good with numbers. James has a thing for her.

'Coming?' she asks, and he follows her up the stairs and then the next flight, and the next, until they reach the spacious attic that used to be his Great Aunt Elladora's (he took the heads down four years ago. Kreacher tried to poison him for a month).

It's even dustier in here, and she sneezes. Sirius thoughtfully offers her a handkerchief. She rolls her eyes, takes out her wand, and murmurs a spell. The whole place shines, dust-free.

'Thank you,' Sirius says, when he turns to her, and as she leans on her tip-toes to kiss him, he sees a magnificent grand piano. The girl's blond hair hides a row of flawlessly polished keys and glass round standards from view.

* * *

'But – _Oxford_.'

James hasn't said anything else for the past twelve and a half minutes, and Sirius is getting short with him.

'Yes.'

'Why –'

'I want to, that's all.'

* * *

Sirius decides to study Law. He doesn't know why he chose that particular course, other than for the fact that it's easier to charm his way through that than Science. It's probably because he's always liked to talk.

He also, somewhere, thinks he might find Remus here.

But that's only somewhere.

He's doing this for himself.

After all, his parents would keel over and die at the mention of their son – their prestigious son, so full of promise and such an attractive candidate for young pureblood parties to marry – at a Muggle university. The thought thrills him.

* * *

Four brutal years later, he's earned himself an Undergraduate degree. He spent his last year in France, studying international law, but he found it so boring he decided to radically change his course. He decided to specialise in criminal law, and as Oxford bored him, he transferred to Cambridge. Money, apparently, spoke an international language.

His first lecture starts late in the afternoon, so he figures he has enough time to take a kip in his apartment.

This results in him being late, five minutes just barely, and that won't do on his first day, will it?

His knock echoes through the corridor, but there is no answer; he slides in, anyway. The Professor has already started, standing in front of the blackboard below, and Sirius wavers, before stealing into a seat next to a pretty girl who looks half his age.

'You are all here because of your exceptional talent for learning. Cambridge's criminal law course does not allow slacking off. Either you are effortlessly brilliant or you aren't. Those who feel they cannot meet up to my expectations can leave now.'

There are a few nervous laughs, scattered along the seats. Sirius unpacks his bag steadily and hopefully without any noise.

'Good, no deserters,' the Professor says. 'Ah. The empty seat is empty no longer.'

It takes all of two seconds for Sirius to notice he's being talked to. He opens his mouth to offer an excuse, but the Professor raises a hand.

'My lecture starts at three thirty precisely. You will find that I cannot be bothered with students who cannot bother to show up on time. Leave.'

The girl gives Sirius a sympathetic look as he stands up and leaves, for the life of him not knowing why he's blushing.

* * *

Sirius is waiting for class to be over. It's November; the corridor is drafty and his legs are cold. Finally, the door opens and steadily, people come out.

'It's Maria.'

'Sorry?'

'My name. It's Maria.'

The girl whose eyes he could feel boring into the back of his head is in front of him now, her pretty brown hair untied and books clutched to her chest.

'Oh,' Sirius replies, not realising sitting next to her meant he'd have to talk to her. He doesn't do the younger ones. They whine.

Maria raises an eyebrow, and then lowers it again, sighing.

'I'm just telling you, you should apologise. Your first impression wasn't very good.'

Something about her annoys Sirius. 'Thank you,' he says, curtly and formally, and she takes the hint and leaves him there, alone.

He might as well take her advice then. Even though he was quite sure that's what he had intended to do all along. Obviously, or he would not have waited.

The class seems ridiculously quiet as he makes his way down the steps; rows of empty seats and desks. The Professor is wiping notes and theories off the blackboard (when Sirius gets closer, he catches the word "Plato" in careful handwriting, but the rest of the sentence is gone when he blinks), and Sirius clears his throat.

The hand on the eraser stills and lowers, leaving a cloud of chalk dust in the air.

'Professor, I wanted to apologise for my tardiness this morning. I quite understand you removing me from your class, as my behaviour was greatly disrespectful.'

'Well,' the Professor says and turns around. His glasses catch the sunlight, temporarily hiding his eyes. 'You've always had a problem with that, haven't you?'

'Sir?'

The Professor takes a step closer. 'I read up upon all of my students, Mr Black. You seem particularly ... skilled at being late.'

Sirius clenches his jaw. God, what an annoying, annoying man.

'Fifteen thousand words on Plato, his theories and the overall similarities with our own criminal law system, Mr Black, due tomorrow. Perhaps one of your classmates will be taken enough with your display of this morning to let you copy their notes.'

'Yes, sir,' Sirius replies levelly, because what else can he do?

The Professor lays the board eraser on the desk and takes off his glasses. 'Don't worry. I'm not very strict at all, as you might have realised.'

'I –'

'I won't remind you of the time my lectures start again. You are on time tomorrow, or you can try your luck at something else. Maybe the French department will take you.'

'I will be on time, sir.'

'I'll send notice to the Choral Scholars; they might feel like accompanying you.'

'Fuck, you're annoying.'

It's out before Sirius realises it is, and then he winces. _Great going, Black. Absolutely fantastic. Next, you'll be holding hands and picking daisies together._

'You were, too. Frustratingly so.'

The Professor paces past him with easy, methodical steps. He pauses, turns once more. This is the first time Sirius has had a proper, non-sun blinding look at him.

'I'll answer to Professor Lupin in the future, if you don't quite mind, Mr Black.'

 _The End._


	7. Epilogue

**Author's Note** : This is an epilogue only in the strictest sense of the word; written as a comment, because after the intentionally vague "what if" ending, which neither hinted towards reconciliation nor ruled it out completely, many wondered.

Note that I wrote this chapter eight years after the original story; the story stands firm without it.

* * *

 **Alpha, Beta**

Sirius, feeling wronged and furious and humiliated after Lupin leaves him, spends fifty minutes charming a classmate out of her notes, works through the night, and hands in the essay bleary eyed and weary the next morning.

Somehow, he's not surprised to find it in his pigeon hole by lunch, marked with an "F".

James laughs at him for a week, bursting into snorty giggles whenever Sirius sees him.

* * *

Through some careful probing, Sirius finds out that Lupin is considered to be one of the youngest and most brilliant Professors in the country. He's incredibly prolific, and Sirius only realises, as he seeks out a reference for his next essay, that the university library is filled to the brim with books he wrote.

It takes Sirius all of two seconds to find out, after that, that Lupin did his undergraduate degree at the Sorbonne.

 _Hic et ubique terrarum_ , he writes on his next essay, in the corner, under his name.

He receives another "F".

* * *

Despite this, Lupin does not appear to hate him, as Sirius thought he might.

Lupin doesn't look at him, much, but sardonically raises an eyebrow whenever Sirius goes out of his way to try and convince him in class his argument is wrong.

Lupin, he soon finds out, is never wrong.

* * *

'Remember,' Lupin is saying, easily commanding everyone's attention, somehow a scary blend of confidence and sharpness. 'It is an honour that you were given only because I will be coming there with you.'

The trip to the High Court is the next day.

Sirius dresses smartly.

Maria won't stop talking to him.

'Your Ladyship,' Remus greets the red-and-black robed judge in front of them, smiling brightly at her. Sirius feels a faint tingle of recognition.

'Remus,' she responds warmly, her face bright and sunny, shaking his hand. 'Thank you so much for coming.'

She then turns to face them. 'As for the rest of you,' she sneers, all kindness forgotten, 'don't get in the way.'

* * *

Lupin disappears with the judge into a room, and the rest of them are escorted to the library by a prim-faced woman, who tells them they are not to wander outside of this room.

Their assignment, officially, is to try and find evidence for the case in the library. Sirius knows, unofficially, that that's not really possible. There's no precedent for the case that Lupin is advising on; the scope and violence of it so barbaric, even Regulus paled slightly when Sirius told him about it (Regulus wisely said nothing about Sirius's venture into the Muggle world, but would always listen when Sirius wished to tell him about a case).

Sirius is shocked, then, after he's randomly pulled a book off a shelf from an author he recognised as one of his former Professors, when he finds something interesting.

He waits, politely, in front of the door he saw Lupin and the judge disappear into, in the corridor he's not meant to be in. Maria hissed words of warning at him when he left, but he ignored her.

It takes four hours for them to emerge. Lupin is the first to leave, almost crashing into Sirius, who had hastily jumped out of the way to avoid being hit. Lupin looks at him sharply, a dark, dangerous warning written all over his face.

'I just –' Sirius fumbles, thrusting out the judgment as the High Judge appears, her eyes narrowed and annoyed. 'I found a case. It's not quite a precedent.'

He sounds unsure, uncertain, and his stomach clenches painfully at his own voice.

Lupin takes the book from him wordlessly. The High Judge doesn't even bother to follow along with his reading, looking murderously at Sirius.

After what feels like hours, days, years, Lupin looks up, meeting his eyes and then looking at the judge, holding the book out to her. She glances down at it, her eyes flying over the page.

'Maybe,' she says primly, but invites Lupin back in. Sirius stands lost in the corridor, for a second, until Lupin turns around.

'Mr Black,' he says, dismissively. 'You will return to the library.'

* * *

When they return to university, Lupin calls Sirius into his classroom. He invites Sirius to take place in one of the seats, and starts packing his bag.

'You will receive an A on this assignment,' Lupin tells him, taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. 'However,' he adds after replacing them and spotting Sirius's look of surprise, 'You will not be allowed to attend the trial.'

Sirius opens his mouth in outrageous protest, but Lupin holds up his hand to silence him.

'You were told to remain in the library,' he says, shortly, slinging his bag over his shoulder and leaving the classroom, not looking back.

* * *

The trial takes two weeks, taking up the rest of their semester. Their final essays are handed in, but Sirius doesn't even pay attention to his mark, only wondering what the hell is going on with the trial.

His classmates aren't allowed to tell him, and he doesn't see Lupin at all.

'It's not _fair_ ,' he tells James, who's now moved in with Evans. They're ridiculously in love. It's sickening.

'It is,' Evans points out. Sirius ignores her, and the fact that she's wearing a _Holyhead Harpies_ shirt that shows off her long, shapely legs. She was three years below them at Hogwarts.

James merely shrugs at him.

'Tell him you're sorry, then,' he says eventually.

Sirius hexes his nose off-centre.

* * *

When he Apparates to the front door Grimmauld Place a couple of hours later, dark and moody and drunk, he finds Lupin sitting on the stoop across his house. Sirius takes a split-second decision, and then walks down the stairs, the house shimmering out of view behind him.

Lupin looks at him levelly, only his widened eyes showing surprise as Sirius appears in front of him. He looks tired. Sirius holds out a hand to help him.

'We won,' Lupin announces, getting up without the aid of Sirius's hand.

'Right,' Sirius responds, putting his hands in his pockets, and simply looking at him.

'Okay,' Lupin says, then steps forward, and kisses him, warm and soft and completely unexpected.

Sirius kisses him back.

* * *

Translations  
\- _Hic et ubique terrarum_ : here and everywhere. It's the motto of the Sorbonne.


End file.
